


The Color of Sacrifice

by starsandtrucks



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Jigoku Shoujo | Hell Girl
Genre: AU, Crossover, F/M, Horror, Olicity if you squint, One Shot, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandtrucks/pseuds/starsandtrucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity has always been good at making her own choices.  When things with Slade don't go according to plan, she has to make the hardest choice of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Color of Sacrifice

                Felicity realizes, somewhere in between her thumb depressing the plunger and Sara pulling her into a corner, that their plan hasn’t worked.  The cure hasn’t worked.  Slade’s howls had been those of rage, and yes, pain; but not of the realization of power lost, of immediate weakness.  She jams her com back into her ear and pulls her phone out of her coat, typing away frantically as she tries to assess the situation in the city beyond and come up with a backup plan.  Her eyes flick over the screen and she frowns.  Waller’s drones are so damn _close_.

                Clanging and shouting echoes throughout the factory they’re in as Oliver and Slade fight it out.  Occasionally they tumble into view, briefly visible through the pipes and steam, before flicking out of her line of sight again.  She glances at them, winces as Slade lands a particularly nasty blow to Oliver’s right side, and returns to the task at hand.  If she can hack the A.R.G.U.S. system, she might be able to divert the drones from their course—send them out to sea, buy Oliver some more time.   Maybe the cure would kick in.  The only thing she needed, and the only thing she didn’t have… time.  There was no time.

                The com in her ear crackles into sudden life.  Reception might not be perfect in this building, but Waller’s voice was clear enough.  “ _I’m sorry, Ms. Smoak, it won’t work_ ,” she says, and Felicity can almost hear a note of regret in her voice.  “ _You have ten minutes until the drones drop their payload.  I would advise you to seek shelter, but I don’t think it would help you much.  Evacuate the area if you can.  I am shutting down your system_.”  And both the com and the phone go dead. 

                Felicity feels ice shoot up her spine as she stares dumbly at the darkened screen.  Twenty feet away, there is an sickening thump and Oliver roars in agony and anger.  Slade chuckles, an awful, low sound, just audible over the sound of Oliver’s now labored breathing.  “You never could take me in a fight, kid,” he gloats.  Felicity moves slightly to her left, peering around a concrete support.  Oliver is on the floor, struggling to his knees, his hood thrown back.  Slade studies him for a minute and delivers a quick, vicious kick to his stomach.  The breath leaves Oliver’s lungs in a hiss as he doubles over in pain.  A slow grin spreads over Slade’s features as he raises his sword.  The shine of the blade reflects in her widened eyes as the seconds seemed to slow, stretching out into eons. 

                She ducks back behind the pillar, her breath catching in her throat. 

                _Time’s up._

                She thinks about a night not too long ago, back in the Foundry, alone with her computer.  It had been cool then, and the hum of the servers had been comforting.  She remembers the feel of her fingers on the keyboard; the only time they had ever typed slowly.  Each key had been struck deliberately, spelling out a name one letter at a time.  It had been both a name and a summons.

                ( “ _My name… is Ai_.” )

                She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a  little straw doll.  A bright red thread is tied around its neck.  Red like the dawn.  Red like blood.  Red like a flame.

                ( “ _Pulling the thread binds you into a covenant with me.”_ )

                She thinks of hell, of fire, of pain.  She thinks of forever.

                She thinks of Starling City, of all the innocent people that are going to die in just a few minutes.  How many lives hang in the balance of her hesitation?  How many lives are two souls worth?  She stares at the doll.

                ( “ _However, once vengeance is served, you will have to deliver on your end of the bargain_.” )

                Her numbed fingers found the end of the thread tied around its neck.  “There’s no other way,” she whispers to herself, tears streaming down her face. 

                ( “ _There always has to be a price_.” )

                She thinks of the blade slicing through Oliver’s neck.  Of a life without him, of moving through the empty days alone.  He stands out in her mind, the light of justice in his eyes and she thinks, _he’s worth it.  He’s worth this.  He’s worth me.  He alone would have been enough to make this decision.  Dayenu_.  A brief childhood prayer sparks in her memory, and she takes a shuddering breath, and pulls the thread.   

                “ _Your grievance shall be avenged_.”  The disembodied voice is faint.  The ringing sound of steel falling to the ground is not.

 

*                                                                                                *                                                                                      *

 

_Some time later…_

                The last of the July sunlight streams through Verdant’s high windows, catching Felicity’s golden hair and turning it molten.  Oliver smiles as she walks towards him, all bounce and giddiness today.  Her summer dress is red and button down, the top buttons undone to beat the unusual heat Starling City has been having.  She’s been wearing a lot of red, lately, and he thinks it suits her, somehow.  He thinks that she’s the light in his darkness—it’s right that she wears the colors of flames.

                “Hiya, Mister,” she says, hefting her bag a little higher on her shoulder.  “Ready for another evening of vigilante activity?”  They grin at each other and move towards the basement door.

                “As a matter of fact, I’ve been keeping tabs on a particular cartel, and… what’s that?” he asks, frowning suddenly.  The strap of her bag has moved the open placket of her dress an inch to the left, revealing a small, flame shaped tattoo, deep and black on her sternum.  He looks into her eyes, and manages to convince himself that the brief shadow he sees cross her face is only a result of them stepping into the relative darkness of the stairwell. 

                “It’s a tattoo, obviously.”  Her voice is merry but her eyes are tight.

                “When did you get it?  I don’t remember seeing it before this.”

                She thinks about making a quip about him looking at her chest, but the words die on her lips. 

                “Not long after everything with Slade.”

                His hand curls into a fist and his eyes go hard, the way they do whenever Slade comes up.  “I still don’t understand why he disappeared.  Why did he run?”  Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.  “Not like it matters.  I’ll defend this city from him until my dying day.”

                Felicity swallows.  She tries not to think about dying too much these days.  “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him anymore, Oliver,” she says softly, taking his hand in hers and loosening his fingers.  Slowly, he relaxed. 

                “I don’t know why you think that, but I admit, when you talk that way it makes me think you’re right, in spite of everything.”  He smiles that slow smile at her, and her heart flutters.  He raises a hand, and traces the circle around the flame with his finger, delicately, barely touching her skin.  “What does it represent?”

                She looks at the ground.  What does it represent?  Darkness.  Fear.  Pain.  Dread.  Fire.  She knows what hell will be for her; she had been given the smallest of glimpses.  It represents loneliness, aching solitude, an eternity without him.  Felicity swallows her sob and closes her eyes for a long moment.

                When she opens them and meets his expectant gaze, she has an answer for him.  “It represents sacrifice,” she says, clearly and without a tremor in her voice.  “The choice to do the unthinkable, to be unsafe, to sacrifice everything for those you love because it’s the right thing to do.”  Her face is shining and he thinks about how brave she is.

                “That’s beautiful, Felicity,” he says softly, and pulls her close, kissing her gently on the forehead.  She pulls back, smiles at him, and continues down the stairs to the basement.  He watches her go, staying behind for a moment, appreciating everything that she is and everything she’s done for him.  His light.  The star in his darkness that would always guide him home.

                Felicity feels his eyes on her but doesn’t turn around.  Her hand touches the tattoo, her skin where she still feels his fingers.  She takes a deep breath.  She has her whole life ahead of her—maybe a life with him.  If not, working together, doing good in the world, by his side…

                ( “ _You will never know the joys of Heaven; you will be left to wander through a world made of pain and agony for all of eternity_.” )

                It was worth it.  It was enough.  _Dayenu_.   

**Author's Note:**

> Dayenu: from the Hebrew, meaning "It would have been enough."


End file.
